


Hunt the Truth

by Ser_Pellanor_Tharn



Series: Hunt the Truth [1]
Category: Destiny (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, I just love procrastination
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-18
Updated: 2017-11-05
Packaged: 2019-01-18 21:45:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12396861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ser_Pellanor_Tharn/pseuds/Ser_Pellanor_Tharn
Summary: This work is a part of the "Lost Days" Series, by Errick Alter.An Exo awakens with new life, knowing nothing of his past. He sets out to discover himself anew, and uncover his lost memories.





	1. Rude Awakening

...need you to wake up! 

“Who’s there? I can’t see you!”

Guardian! Wake up, please! The City needs you!

The Exo coughed, his lungs, limbs, and generally everything hurt like hell. Opening his eyes slowly, he was quickly blinded by an unshielded fluorescent light. He groaned, sitting up against an old metal cabinet. He was almost startled by the small star shaped creature floating before him, staring with one bright blue eye.

The Exo coughed again as he began to speak. “Who, or what are you? And where are we? Was I dead?” The steam of questions came out fast, before the Exo could pace himself. “I’m a Ghost, born of the Traveler. Now yours. I came from The City in search of one who could wield the Light as a weapon.” The Ghost paused, its eye seeming to narrow. “And yes, you’ve been dead a long time.” The Exo adjusted his eyes to the fluorescent light, and took in his surroundings. 

He found himself in a run down room, of concrete and sheet metal. Various long dead consoles and computer equipment lay throughout the small room, red evening light shone through the blinds opposite where the Exo sat. He stared out the blinds, looking for anything familiar. Why couldn't he remember anything? Who was he before this… 

“What’s your name?”

“What?”

“You have a name, don’t you? I’m sure you’d have one. Most sentient beings do.” 

“Did this ‘Traveler’ birth you with such a snarky attitude, or is it a learned trait from those who are ‘reborn’?” The Exo scoffed with a smirk. “It’s…” He paused, looking down at his wrist on an instinct he didn’t know existed. Scratched on his forearm, was a name and a message. Pellanor. Don’t forget. Did he put that there? He made a mental note to visit a library at this ‘City’ the Ghost spoke of.

“Pellanor. Call me Pell. Do you have a name? It’s going to be irritating referring to you as ‘Ghost’ all the time.” 

“I’ve never thought of one. It’s never been needed. You’re my first point of non hostile contact in at least a year.” Pell could have sworn the Ghost shuddered as it recalled it’s past year roaming. 

“Alright. Spark it is.” The Ghost’s segments narrowed over it’s eye in a scowl. “Very well then, a nickname will be nice I suppose.” It paused. “Why ‘Spark’?” “You know, you’ve given me a spark of life, it only seems fitting.” 

Spark turned toward the window as an alien shriek rang out. “Fallen! We should get moving.” The ghost did not elaborate on what the ‘Fallen’ are, but perhaps it was best to ask questions later. “Come on, get up! I didn’t bring you back so you could die again!” Pell swore to himself he’d get to the bottom of Spark’s attitude. 

With that, Pell stood up and surveyed his surroundings. As he stood, he realized that he was wearing a lightly armored chestplate over a sturdy bodysuit. A light, crimson scarf embroidered with a double headed eagle wrapped around his neck. It looked brand new, though roughly crafted. “The best I could do with what was available. It should be enough for now.” Pell nodded as he scrounged through various drawers and cabinets. “I need a weapon, Spark. Help me out here!” 

“Think of a Knife or a Grenade. The light within you will create them.” The Ghost explained. Pell found out it was as simple as that, in each hand he produced a razor sharp hunting knife and a grenade. Both felt warm and glew with a faint light, as if infused with fire. “You’re a Hunter, Gunslinger. Let’s get out there and show those Fallen who’s boss. Take it slow though.” Spark warned him like a cautious parent, keeping track of their child. 

With that, Pell and his newfound companion moved into the adjacent hall. Spark de-materialized before his eyes, startling him. “Don’t worry, I’m still with you. It’s safer for me to travel this way.” Spark spoke into Pell’s ear. That was something he had to get used to. Although, it was similar to speaking through a COM channel, so he would adapt. The hallway, like the room he was just in, littered with various bits and pieces of scrap. “What is this place, Spark?” Pell whispered as he moved into a low crouch, doing his best to blend into the early evening shadows. “The old Russian Cosmodrome. A place where colonists would go to begin colonization of other worlds the Traveler terraformed. Mars and Venus to name a few.” Spark explained. "All worlds, all colonies, with the exception of the City were all decimated in the Collapse. That’s what brought about the ruin you see here. The Fallen are one of many enemies, the Darkness, the enemy of the Traveler.” Spark paused. “Perhaps there will be more time to explain once we’re out of harm's way.” 

Pell nodded, continuing to slink down the hall to an open doorway. The double doorway was propped open, one of the heavy industrial doors had fallen off the hinges. Pell looked out a shattered window, over the vast canyon-like expanse that lay before him. The sun set, leaving the sky a beautiful array of pink, purple and orange. Strewn about the ground below were various machines, mostly old trucks and huge husks of decaying cargo planes. 

Upon the ground below the building in which Pell looked out, was a lone creature. Four arms, two of which holding a hefty looking rifle. Definitely an alien. A lone sniper? Pell thought. Perhaps he could get the jump on it if he were quick enough. “That’s one of the Fallen. Nasty bunch of scavengers who moved into the Cosmodrome to loot out old Golden Age tech.” Spark explained in Pell’s ear. “Let’s get the jump on em’.” Pell whispered as he treaded carefully down a flight of stairs and out onto the overhang where the sniper stood. 

Pell crept up behind the Fallen, quick to cover the ground between him and his target. He wrenched his knife into the creature's lower back. It yelled in pain, dropping it’s rifle and reached into a scabbard at it’s side. Oh no you don’t. Pell twisted his knife, tearing it out of the Fallen’s back. The creature spun around, Pell barely managed to duck under it’s panicked swing. As the dagger flew past Pell’s helmet, he felt a wave of electricity pass over his head. Pell moved back to make another stab, but the creature caught him off guard with a sucker punch to the face. Pell, instead of recoiling hard, brought himself to balance and hurled himself into the Fallen’s chest. He heard it’s dagger fall from its grasp. Excellent. The hunter brought up his knife as the Fallen slammed into the ground. He drove it hard into the creature’s neck, causing a foul smell to emanate from it. The Fallen collapsed beneath him. 

“Oh, what the hell is that smell?! Damn! Smells like shit…” Pell exclaimed, irritated at the foul smell. “The Fallen breathe a substance called Ether. Most Guardians think that’s why the smell so bad. Probably don’t shower much either.” Pell chuckled at his Ghost’s snide remark. “Ha, you're probably right.” Pell remarked as he picked up the Fallen’s dagger, testing it’s heft before taking the scabbard and fastening it to his waist. He also took the rifle, a long barreled weapon with a cone shaped chamber and a thin cylinder suspended by thin metal strips below the mechanism. He tested it, finding it had to charge before firing. “So, we ought to find a way to the city, huh?” Pell asked to no one in particular as he gazed off to the Cosmodrome wall in the distance.

He broke the silence that followed his rhetorical question, and strode off down the hillside, city-bound.


	2. City Bound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pellanor runs into some trouble with his newfound Fallen 'friends' and experiences a sensation most guardians call normal. Pellanor also puts his creativity to use to aid his defense.

The hunter slid between the fuselage of a decaying aircraft and a large corroded metal cargo container. He struggled to catch his breath, one hand on his chestplate, the other on his shock-dagger. “Damn it! I didn’t think that sniper’s friends would be there so quick. Must’ve been an important spotter for something.” Pell spoke in between heavy breaths. He caught his breath and took a peek around the corner of the container. “Any bright ideas, Spark?” Pell asked to his invisible companion. “Perhaps you should set an ambush? There are only three others after all.” Pell blew off the sarcasm this time. “Alright, but if they get the best of me, I hope you’ll get me back up. You can do that, right..?” It sounded as if Spark chuckled. “Yes, I’ll get to a safe spot if you need me to bring you back.” 

Spark disengaged off to the tree line above the scrapyard as Pell waited near a larger aircraft, taking cover under a broken wing. He soon heard the sound of approaching footsteps, about three of them from the sound of it. Pell struck as they moved past, his shock dagger and hunter’s knife impaling a smaller fallen with two arms in the back. It shrieked in pain, collapsing as he withdrew his blades, its dagger falling from it’s hand. The two others turned as soon as the shriek sounded out. A large one with massive armor, and a menacing launcher type of weapon with four barrels. The other was like the sniper, but held a different rifle. Pell caught a blast of the launcher in the chest, sending him falling backwards. He rolled to the side, a second blast grazing his shoulder. “Ah, damn it!” He lunged forward with his dagger and knife, throwing his knife square in the smaller one’s neck, taking it clean off with a sickening slice. The larger one blasted him again, twice, with it’s launcher, causing him to collapse on the ground. Everything went dark. 

Just as soon as he fell, he found himself standing by Spark in the treeline. The large fallen looked around, likely confused as to where his enemy had gone. Pell raised his Wire Rifle, and shot it’s head clean off. “Bastard.” Pell spat. “Well, that could have gone better.” Spark commented, obviously judging his Guardian’s performance. “Oh yeah, what would you have done better Spark? My plan went perfectly. Distract the big one with my ‘death’ and blast it in the face from this vantage point after it got confused. Simple.” Spark’s segments narrowed in a scowl. “I think you just made that up.” Spark had him there. That plan was made up on the spot and Pell knew it. “Why don’t we get moving?” Pell suggested as he began to climb down the treeline. He stealthily made his way across the field of wrecked aircraft and trucks over to a door, by a loading dock in the Cosmodrome wall, likely leading to the building behind it.

As he approached the door, Pell examined the sign near the loading dock by the door. “An old arms manufacturing facility. Looks like they made body armor here as well. How convenient.” The Hunter remarked with a bit of sarcasm. It was as if the Traveler itself smiled upon him today. Yeah, Right. Pell thought. “You can read Russian?” Spark asked in amazement, his segments parting from his eye. “What, you can’t?” Pell paused to think for a moment. Perhaps this was a sign of who he was before? A sign of what language he spoke, anyway. Spark’s lack of response to Pell’s question made his answer obvious. 

The Hunter hopped up the steps and onto the loading dock, cracking open the door’s aging lock with ease. “Give me some light, Spark.” Pell spoke into the darkness of the hallway before him. Spark materialised on Pell’s shoulder, shining a light forward and moving with his head movements. “Looks like nobody’s home. Let’s check out the foundry floor.” 

Upon moving onto the main floor, Pell soured the area for any raw materials. He tore open rusting cabinets and crates trying to find anything of use. “Alright Spark, looks like we have a lot of work to do…” Pell sighed as he tqueued up a list of things they’d need. “Power for the smelter, a decent cast, a grindstone… Damn this collapse!” Pell slammed his fist on a table in anger, shaking a book down from a shelf above it. 

“What..?” The Hunter examined the book. “Khvostov 7G-0X… Maintenance and Assembly Manual?” Pell paused and flipped through the old softback handbook. It was no bigger than half a clipboard, and fastened easily to his belt via a handy clasp on the spine. The book was missing a few pages, and was stained by coffee on a few edges. What really caught his attention were several notes, carefully scribbled on the edges of every diagram. They were all of the same penmanship, instructions on improving the design. 

Pell cleared his throat. “Spark, do you think you’d be able to fabricate a few missing parts of internal mechanisms?”

The two spent the next several hours hauling sheets of rusted metal from crates and planes into the workshop. They even found a power source for the smelter, an old engine from a truck and what little diesel fuel they could find. All wired together with some fancy space magic. 

By morning, Pell and Spark had re-created a once standard issue rifle, now an exotic weapon by post-collapse standards no doubt. 

“There, at last!” The Hunter exclaimed as he held it up to the morning light shining through the window. The weapon was a finely painted black, with a wooden stock, foregrip, and a classic Russian banana clip. The sight was a little cracked, but it was the best available. “Good thing there were a few scattered clips of ammo around. Remind me to stock up once we reach the City.” Spark replied with a confirming uh huh. Pell shoved a clip in into the magazine slot, the bolt clicking as it loaded, much to his satisfaction. 

Spark made himself scarce once again, as the Hunter climbed through the building to reach the roof. “So Spark, what else can a Gunslinger do?”


	3. A City worth fighting for

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pellanor finally makes it to the city, and takes time to orient himself, and perhaps get in a bit of trouble.

The revolver in his hands shone with the intensity of direct sunlight.

Boom.

Boom.

Boom.

Each shot vaporised the Fallen targets on the massive wall above him, their cinders blowing away on the wind. The golden gun disappeared in Pell’s hands as soon as it came, particles of light fading in the air.

“Well, that was quite something. Such power! Look at that! Not a trace of their existence at all…” Pell pondered the hidden ability he held, before asking Spark for clarification. “Golden Gun, you said it was called?” Pell asked as he scaled the wall. “Correct. Also, it’s of a somewhat limited use. It recharges over time. You’ll know when it’s ready for use again.” With that, Pell gave a confirming grunt and the two resumed their mid afternoon stroll across the barren Cosmodrome wall. 

\-----

Their trip along the wall was relatively uneventful. The two spied the occasional Fallen Dropship, or ‘Skiff’ as Spark called it, along with quite a few patrols here and there. Pell was quite intrigued at how many fallen had set up shop here. They’d really taken over the place. It made him sick, these vermin, picking the bones of their once great Golden Age. 

As they came to a large hole in the wall, Pell decided to scale down, to find another route to the city. “Spark, we’re still going in the right direction, yeah?” He gazed off in the distance to some old city, its towering skyscrapers falling on each other. “Yes, we’re on course. Though it’ll be quite the long walk, and I’d hate for you to over exert your fragile new self…” Spark stated, a hint of sarcasm in the latter. “Right, Spark.” Pell thanked him flatly. “Any bright ideas for quicker travel? Guardians can’t have to walk everywhere. What about flying?” Spark paused for a moment to consider this possibility. “I’m not detecting any… whole… ships in this section. We’ll have to look elsewhere for transportation.” Pell frowned, and put a hand to his chin in thought. “I’ve got an idea.” 

\-----

The hunter lay in wait inside blown out section of the Cosmodrome wall. He had, with Spark’s help, calculated a decent timetable for Skiff arrival and departure. The Skiff would dock at this hole and let some Fallen off. Then, thirty minutes later, they’d return with an arm-full of scrap and fly off. Pell was going to make sure they didn’t have a Skiff to come back to. 

As the skiff set down by the opening, Pell dove swiftly onto the deck after the Fallen had disembarked. He squeezed his way into the cockpit, and shot the pilot dead in the back of his head. “Alright, one Skiff hold the Fallen, all set!” He chuckled at his own bad joke and dragged the body out and overboard. “Ha Ha. You’re such a card, Pell.” 

The Skiff took off, just in time for Pell to grab a seat in the pilot’s chair. He coughed into a closed fist and leaned back hard into it’s hard leather cushions. “Damn, Spark. You’re pretty handy in about every situation. I’m glad we’re partners you know? I can’t believe the old me ever got on without you.” The hunters smiled, exhaling a sigh.

“Anytime, Guardian. I’m glad we make an efficient team. We should be at the City within an hour, I’ll broadcast a friendly IFF frequency when we’re in range and let Tower Control we’re the good guys.” Spark paused to turn to Pell, his eye glowing bright in the darkness of the cockpit. “Wouldn't want you to get an unfriendly welcome.”

\-----

Flying through a mass of clouds, the Skiff soared into City airspace. Pell heard Spark talking inside the cockpit, he only heard bits and pieces, but it was obvious he was telling the City not to blow us out of the Sky. 

Pell was holding onto a handrail just outside of the cockpit. He looked in awe at the vast city before him, with what he presumed to be the Traveler hanging up above. He let off an impressed long whistle. So that was the Traveler. As impressive as he’d imagined, for a giant white ball. Though it didn’t look like it did much traveling these days. As they came through a mountain pass, the Tower Spark spoke of came into view. Not long after, they’d stopped by the edge of the main plaza. Spark hinted that this was their stop. 

The two got off the Skiff. “Spark, hide that thing in the woods, will you? We could use it for some fun later.” Oh, Pell thought, the things they could do with-- 

“Pellanor.” Spark interrupted. “We need to go see the Speaker. He can give you the guidance you need, what it means to be a Guardian of the City.” Pell nodded, donning a firm expression. He hadn’t been brought back for fun and games. RIght? 

It was a short stroll from the main atrium to where the Speaker resided. The hunter walked slowly up the red carpeted stairs and onto a small platform flanked by a bookshelf on the left and a massive mechanical contraption in the center of the room just off the platform. Pellanor felt obligated to stand up straight in the presence of the leader of the city. The figure in white robes turned up from a pile of scrolls and notebooks on their desk, and addressed the hunter that stood before them. He seemed all too relaxed, for someone who was meant to be humanity’s leader. 

“Young Guardian, I am pleased to see yet another soul rise from the ashes of our broken age, to meet the hardships of our era.” He spoke with a quiet, powerful voice. Perhaps, Pell thought, looks could be deceiving. “I presume your Ghost has told you of but one of the enemies we face. There will be much for you to learn on this new earth, but know, you are never alone. The City will always welcome you back from your hardships and long journeys. May I be the first to welcome you.” The Speaker extended his hand in greeting. 

“I am the Speaker. I speak for the Traveler.”

Pellanor looked down, toward the city, shuffling his feet. His mind swirled with questions, though he felt in his bionic guts that now was not the time for a sit down to play twenty questions. After what felt like an eternity, he took the Speaker’s hand to give it a firm shake. “I’m honored for the second chance I’ve been given. I won’t let you down, Speaker.” 

Whoa. A sense of duty? Who’d have thought. 

The Speaker went back to his books and notes. “One more thing, Guardian. Speak with Amanda Holiday, our Shipwright. She will give you a ship, for you to better protect our system.” Pell took off in a brisk pace, ignoring the other guardians around him. Though none seemed to pay him any mind. 

\-----

Night had fallen over the city. The City skyline looked lovely from the tower, though that wasn’t where Pellanor found himself. 

Instead, he’d taken a stroll in the city itself. Talking in the sights and sounds of this strange new age for humanity. Folks seemed to be getting along fine. It wasn’t long till he found himself craving for a good drink. It was that time of night, he thought. Might as well celebrate his new life as a guardian of humanity. 

After quite some wandering, he came to a small square. All the shops had closed, but one. The neon sign above the entrance read ‘Sulivan’s Place’. The door swung open as a couple guardians strolled out. Pell heard quite the chatter going on inside, some pleasing jazzy piano and sax tune graced the air for but a moment before the door shut, returning the streets to silence. Not wanting to be left out of a good time, Pell swung the door open and strolled on in. 

What was the harm in drinking alone?

**Author's Note:**

> Big thanks to my friend Errick for bugging me about posting this. Hopefully this story won't end up being a sloppily written mess. Anyways, I don't have much time to write, and the first three chapters I'd already written months ago. So, expect the rest to be posted whenever. Maybe a chapter every week and a half.


End file.
